I realize I’m still clutching the spiral to my chest, terrified to let it out of my hands. So while he removes his last article of clothing, I lean over the fence and drop the spiral onto the grass.
I keep my back determinedly to Torres, but even so, I know the minute he moves away from me. I can feel it.
Which is absolutely absurd. It’s impossible to feel a person’s presence. Feeling directly implies touch.
And yet . . .
There’s a splash behind me, and no longer able to contain myself, I turn. I watch his head break the surface of the water, rivulets running over his face and shoulders. He reaches up and wipes his eyes, and then he’s grinning at me. Wild and carefree and so, so handsome it’s hard to breathe.
It’s easy to understand why Dylan warned me away from him. There is something impossible to resist about his charm and when he focuses it all on one person? I can imagine he gets just about any girl he wants.
And improbably . . . that girl is now me.
I can’t really see anything beneath the water. To my eyes, he’s no more naked now than he’s been all night. But even so, an illicit thrill runs through because I know. Even if I can’t see.
Before I can ask him to turn around, he does, wading over to the side of the pool and leaning his arms against the edge with his back to me.
He doesn’t say anything to prompt me into action. Nor does he seem impatient. He behaves almost as if I’m not even here.
And that is the thing I don’t understand about Dylan’s warning. Sure, he’s been blatantly flirtatious. And shameless was a very apt description. But he’s never been pushy or rude, except for the moment when he stole my spiral, but even that had been oddly . . . thoughtful. And it makes me wonder . . . is he different with me than he is with his friends? Or just different with girls he’s interested in? Maybe the thoughtfulness is an act to put me at ease.
Well, if it is . . . it’s working.
With a deep breath, I reach for the buttons on my shirt and begin to undo them. The first brush of air against my bare skin makes me shiver. It’s not cold outside, despite it being the end of October. Texas doesn’t have a traditional winter so much as it has one long summer with occasional cold fronts to break up the relentless heat.
When I get the shirt all the way unbuttoned, I shrug it off and lay it over the fence beside Torres’s loincloth. I blush furiously at the sight of the dark shorts on top of his costume. They’re longer than boxer briefs, but they’re still constructed like them. And I can just imagine how snugly they would fit over his muscled thighs . . . over all of him. I look back over my shoulder, but he’s still exactly as I left him, his wet, muscled shoulders glinting in the moonlight.
Quickly, I shove the plaid schoolgirl skirt over my hips, and it pools at my feet. I step out of the garment and pick it up, tossing it on top of my shirt, and then I pause. I could just jump in like this. Admittedly, I’m not a skinny-dipping expert, but I’ve seen enough movies to know one doesn’t have to be completely naked for it to count.
But then my bra and underwear will be wet when I go back to the party. And since my shirt is white, there’d be no hiding it. I’d either have to wait for my undergarments to dry or just say screw it and go back anyway. It would take a long while for my things to dry. Dylan would no doubt wonder where I am. She’s probably already wondering.
No. Bra and underwear need to go, too.
With one last glance at Torres, I reach behind me to unclasp my bra, shimmy off my underwear, and throw them both on the pile of clothes.
Then I turn to face the pool.
I look at Torres’s back and wonder if he can feel me the way I thought I could feel him earlier. Does he know I’m standing here facing him, completely on display? One peek over his shoulder is all it would take to know all my secrets. But he doesn’t peek. Not once.
I bend, sitting on the edge of the pool and slipping my legs in the water. The cool water prickles at my skin, and before I can change my mind, I slide all the way in.
I squeak at the cold sting of the water against my bare skin and hold my arms up. They and my head are the only things that didn’t go underwater, and I suck in a hissing breath.
“You should have just jumped all the way in.”
I look up to see that Torres has now turned. He’s still leaning against the pool’s edge, but he has his arms stretched out beside him. I marvel for a moment at just how big he is. His arms, especially, are long and undoubtedly strong.
“Everyone always says that,” I say, trying not to shiver. “But I still prefer to ease myself in, rather than plunge all at once.”
“And this list of yours? That’s not plunging in all at once?”
“I suppose some things might be, but the bigger things, those I’m easing myself into.”
“Like?”
Like sex. Possibly with you.
I grit my teeth, and slowly lower my arms into the water, wrapping them around myself both to cover my breasts and recover a little bit of warmth.
“Like tonight I had my first real drink of alcohol. That was the first step. Later, I’ll actually get drunk. Even do a keg stand.”
He laughs and drops his hands into the water. He begins moving toward me, and the goose bumps already dotting my skin seem to tighten and multiply.
“You’re going to do a keg stand? Now, that is not something I ever thought you would have on your list.”
Too embarrassed to admit that I’d Googled college bucket list in an attempt to learn what normal people my age do, I shrug and say, “It seems like fun.” Actually, it seems like a disaster waiting to happen, but what do I know?